Archive for January, 2005

Moses’ tears

Published
by
Mike
on January 31, 2005
in family, grief and the wreck
. 8 Comments

Moses’ Tears

It’s been almost three years ago that our beloved dog, Molly, died. After an appropriate period of mourning, Diane and Chris went to the library to check out dog books so they could read up in preparation of selecting just the right dog.

Then I went out to run one morning. When I returned, a mutt puppy was in our garage. Clearly, he had been dumped and had wandered in. I yelled to Diane to come see. Her eyes grew as big as saucers and she screamed, “Chris, come here!” This was not what I anticipated, and I didn’t like where it was going. “Oh, no,” I objected. “This isn’t our dog. He’s just a mutt that someone left here.”

The two of them stared at me in disbelief. Diane finally said, “Chris has been praying for God to send us just the right dog, and it looks to me that God maybe answered his prayer.”

So I had a choice: I could hold off for the RIGHT DOG, or I could have a son who spent his life as a believer instead of an infidel.

Anyway, Moses (named Moses because he was “drawn from” the garage) is our dog. Our big dog. Our big dog who can’t quite get out of the puppy stage and is just a bit too welcoming anytime you go in the back yard.

But when I leave town, I feel like he’s watching over my loved ones. It’s hard to imagine him being mean; but he’s smart and fiercely loyal.

Now Moses presses his face up against the back door staring at the twelve year old who is his constant companion. Wondering why he isn’t coming out to play. Wondering why he’s sitting in a wheelchair instead of walking.

I think I’ve seen Moses cry. Or are those my tears I see reflected?

Letter to the editor

Published
by
Mike
on January 29, 2005
in the wreck
. 12 Comments

I sent a letter to the editor on Wednesday. It hasn’t been printed yet, they told me yesterday, because of all the interest in the Abilene cable television controversy. I’d hate to bump something so urgent. So, in case it never makes it, here it is:

As a minister of the Highland Church and, much more, as the father of one of the children critically injured in the recent rollover on I-20, there are so many people I’d like to thank.

First, I’m thankful for the competent emergency response team that cared for our children when we weren’t there – along with strangers who stopped and then calmed and prayed for our kids.

I’m also thankful for the amazing trauma team at Hendrick. They received our children, provided appropriate care, and did their best to comfort the frightened parents.

I’m grateful for the support and encouragement of so many people of Abilene. But especially I’m thankful for our larger community of faith who held us up in prayer when we were too exhausted or frightened to pray. Our little band of three families at Cook’s Children’s Hospital felt that support of many local churches constantly.

Pioneer Drive Baptist Church called Highland and asked if they could staff our nursery during Brody Bourland’s funeral so all could attend. And then six churches – First Baptist, St. Paul United Methodist, First United Methodist, First Central Presbyterian, First Christian, and Heavenly Rest Episcopal Church – called to see if their teens and teen leaders could come pray for our church in its distress. There are no words to express what that means to me.

After our son was dismissed from Cook’s Tuesday, all children who had been hospitalized were officially home. But with a long road of recovery ahead for some of the kids and for the driver (a beloved woman from our church), it brings comfort to know that the prayers of believers from many churches will continue.

Mike Cope

All-Star Nurses

Published
by
Mike
on January 28, 2005
in family and the wreck
. 9 Comments

There were so many wonderful nurses while we were at Cook’s. Chris’s hall of fame includes:

Steve - He knew how to help Chris get more comfie to sleep with a back brace and a neck brace, thereby making him a hero.

Jack - She was the ICU rules-Nazi who was fiercely devoted to her patients and enforced rules (like two visitors at a time) because she wanted the children under her charge to get better.

Missy - One night at shift change, Chris whined, “I want Missy . . . .” Had he been in charge of shift assignments, Missy would have been on each evening.

Kim - Ah, yes. His favorite. The first time she came in, I had “Mercy Me” going in the Ipod. She asked Chris who his favorite Christian group was. (Easy question for a boy who’s just been to an Audio Adrenaline concert.) Her loving spirit matched her nursing skills.

One afternoon Kim observed as Chris came out in his wheelchair to a small crowd of supporters. She watched as his aunt fanned him to keep him cool and as his cousin Maddie stood at his side with a drink and straw in hand. Kim shook her head, came over and grabbed the cup, went back to her desk and wrote the words “PRINCE CHRIS” on it, and returned the cup. It was his cherished styrofoam cup for the rest of our stay.

Like a Rabbit Loves to Run

Published
by
Mike
on January 27, 2005
in family, grief, prayer and the wreck
. 30 Comments

“I’m tired of this.” “I wish this didn’t happen.” Very simple statements from my son this morning, but I understand. To borrow Seder language, “If only he had cracked a couple ribs, dayenu [that would have been enough].” “If only he had cracked a couple ribs and a thumb, dayenu.” “If only he had cracked a couple ribs, a thumb, and a vertebrae, dayenu.” “If only he had cracked a couple ribs, a thumb, a vertebrae, and a skull (slight fracture at base of skull), dayenu.”

But to go with all that is a sore butt and a headache.

The “bone guy” (translation: pediatric orthopedic surgeon) said that after three months, he ought to be brand new. But three months to a twelve year old boy in the middle of his basketball season and right before baseball begins is like a decade to me.

When we first saw him in the E. R. at Hendrick here in Abilene (before he was flown to Cook’s), he was hardly recognizable. He had been beaten horribly. When he heard our voices, he began crying uncontrollably. I leaned over and whispered in his ear the words I’ve said to him at bedtime a thousand times:

Love that boy.
Like a rabbit loves to run,
I said I love that boy.
Like a rabbit loves to run.
Love to see him in the morning.
Love to say, “Good mornin’, son.”

Then, for the moment, he calmed down.

My prayers for the previous hour had been fairly simple: “Please, God. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.” I think you’d expect more from a 48-year-old minister. But that’s about all that would come.

As I leaned over him, not knowing yet how serious his internal injuries were, nothing profound came. So I prayed the same words I say over every baby born at Highland: “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be on you always.”

Sometimes familiar words fit the best.

Home from Ft. Worth!

Published
by
Mike
on January 25, 2005
in Church, family and the wreck
. 30 Comments

We are home!! We pulled into the driveway this afternoon to signs and balloons welcoming Chris. Before long school let out and we had a house full of 6th grade boys. So very, very thankful to be here. The road ahead will be slow and hard. But for the moment, we’re HOME!

On the way back, we stopped at the site of the wreck near Putnam. The site where my precious boy could have died. The place where his friend Brody Bourland did die. There’s so much to process. Our prayers continue for the Bourland family and for others who were injured in the rollover. Chris was the last child to leave a hospital. (The driver remains hospitalized.)

So many stories to hear and tell. One that’s filling my soul right now is hearing about the service on Sunday night. Six churches contacted Highland to ask if their teens could come over that evening to pray for our church, our youth group, the Bourlands, and all who were injured. They are First Baptist, St. Paul United Methodist, First United Methodist, First Central Presbyterian, First Christian, and Heavenly Rest Episcopal Church.

These churches came to minister to my beloved church while I was gone — to pray for my son and for the others. I have no words at the moment to begin to say what that community of faith means to me.

Intubation by Community

Published
by
Mike
on January 24, 2005
in Church, friends and the wreck
. 15 Comments

The slow process of rehab continues for us at Cook’s. This is now eight days after the wreck.

Just as Chris was intubated for about 30 hours to help his lungs begin to heal, so we have all been intubated by the community of faith. People have breathed for us when we couldn’t breathe. They have prayed for us when we were too tired to pray.

Yesterday Chris got to talk by phone to the only other child still in the hospital in Abilene. That was very comforting to him.

Los Tres Amigos

Published
by
Mike
on January 23, 2005
in family, friends, music, prayer and the wreck
. 8 Comments

Yesterday morning two of Los Tres Amigos got to go home. Hurrah! We watched Jon Weston and (a few minutes later) Austin leave their rooms to head back to Abilene. It was kind of a lonely feeling for Chris, but he was glad his friends were doing that well.

And we had a good day, too. From the outside it would probably seem like baby steps. But from the inside it was gigantic leaps. Chris is now doing some simple exercises and is able to get into a wheelchair for brief periods. He had a couple buddies come up yesterday (plus his two very attentive female cousins who are hovering around him when he’s up to it) and they watched ballgames together.

Today he has his brother and sister-in-law to watch NFL playoff games with.

There was a moment late last night when just the five of us were in the room and prayed that I thought, “Life might one day be ‘normal’ again.”

During one of those early dark nights when we were waiting on word about head and lungs, I kept searching in my Ipod for something that would comfort. It came down to one thing: Zoe music. Probably because I could hear the familiar voices and know that those very people were praying for us. The two songs that ministered the most to me were “Come, Ye Sinners” (I know the words “bruised and broken by the fall” are referring to sin . . . but for the moment that spoke to our situation) and “Be Still My Soul.”

Last night and this morning I was supposed to have been speaking at a Zoe Conference in Fresno. I know it’s going well.

Well, that’s the report from Cook’s Children’s Hospital this morning. I think my mom and I are going to slip away to early service at Richland Hills. There are so many places I’d like to go this morning: to Burleson to say thanks for all the food; to Grapevine to say thanks for the banner signed by middle schoolers; to . . . . You understand.

Thank you all so very much for your prayers. We had one note sent up by someone saying that she is a member of this blog community though we’ve never met. She just wanted us to know she’s thinking about us, praying for us, and would do anything to help if we’d call her.

Are there words in the English language to say what that means to a family in crisis?

Out of ICU

Published
by
Mike
on January 20, 2005
in Church, family, grief and the wreck
. 29 Comments

It’s late Thursday evening and I’m bone-weary. But I have a moment at the computer to catch my blog friends up on what’s happening here.

We are officially out of ICU!! Chris has a slight fracture at the base of his skull (which will heal itself and is nothing to worry about we’re told), a broken thumb, a couple broken ribs, and a broken L4 vertebrae. It will take quite a while to recover. But he will. Fully. Or so we’re told by the doctors and so we’re believing.

We have a lot of work ahead of us which we’re thankful to be facing. I’m getting ready to clear my calendar of all traveling for quite a ways in the future. I know the places I’m scheduled to speak will understand. (A friend of mine started the process today by calling the wonderful folks at Ozark Christian College, and he said they couldn’t have been more understanding.)

This afternoon, we shared the sad news about the death of his friend with Chris. He cried and then we prayed a prayer of tears. Not long after that, he got out of bed for the first time since he was placed on a stretcher somewhere on I-20 Sunday afternoon. With his neck brace and his back brace, he slid into his wheelchair. Then we went for a private meeting of Los Tres Amigos — the three 6th grade boys from Highland who have been at Cook’s together. They were all in ICU together; and now they’re in regular rooms near each other. I’d have loved to have heard that conversation.

How can we ever begin to say thanks for all the prayers, cards, comments, etc.? The Burleson Church of Christ, which I think I know nothing about, has provided dinner for everyone the last couple nights. People from Highland have been unbelievable. Dr. Jim? What can I say? You cared for our children in Hendrick ER and then came over with us to watch over their broken bodies for two nights (or maybe three — the days are running together) — letting the Cook’s people do their thing, but becoming our translator and encourager. You were minister, pastor, and physician. We — I — will never ever forget it.

Our road ahead will be long. After the others are gone, we’ll be here for a while. But eventually we’ll be back at home — to share the joy and grief of others.

Update from Cook’s

Published
by
Mike
on January 18, 2005
in family, friends, prayer and the wreck
. 55 Comments

Dear Friends -

First, thank you so much for your prayers. We have felt the love and prayers of people from all over. Thanks also for remembering all the families who were effected by the wreck–especially the family who lost their precious 6th grade son. (The funeral, I understand, is tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.)

Second, I want to provide an update on Chris. For now, I want to be brief and to the point. There’s more I’ll share later, but I know some have probably been checking here for info. We’ve just been too caught up with everything happening in ICU to be able to break away.

Apparently, Chris is no longer in critical condition. The dangers we feared seem to be past. Yesterday (the day after the accident) he began communicating through hand signals. He became quite clever at a simple game of charades. His first major question to me was, I finally figured out, “What time is it?” A funny question for a kid who, because of the trauma, doesn’t even know what month it is yet.

Last night after his lungs had improved so much, they exubated him, and he’s been breathing on his own quite well. It isn’t pleasant mind you, with two or three broken ribs and bruised lungs, but he’s doing well nevertheless.

This morning he became very verbal. He’s very responsive, and can have pieces of ice. This afternoon the tube in his side (that went into his pleural cavity–I only know this because my med school son is standing beside me while I type) was taken out. Can you say, “BIG OUCH”?

He’s close to being ready to leave ICU. We’ve been told his neck brace can’t come off yet because of all the swelling in his neck, but nothing about that seems to alarm anyone.

Chris has a broken L4 vertebrae. They measured him for a mold that will be made for him that he’ll have to wear for a while (couple months?). They (I keep using the infamous “they” to refer to a slew of wonderful docs, nurses, and therapists) aren’t concerned about this break; he just has to be very careful for a while. Translation: his basketball season is over.

He and Austin Lemmons have been friends from the womb. Their mothers were pregnant at the same time, and they’ve been big buddies ever since. They’re together for covenant group most Sunday nights. They’ve been side-by-side up in PICU, intubated together, and now breathing on their own together. They keep asking about each other. Austin has been about a day ahead of Chris in all the areas of getting better (plus he doesn’t have the back thing to deal with), so we’ve been able to watch him and know what is hopefully ahead.

I don’t want to say more publicly about Austin or the other Highland boy here, their buddy Jon Weston Bennett. That’s up to their families. But suffice it to say that the Highland report from Cook’s Children’s Hospital today is very good.

More later. This was just for some who might check in. Diane and I appreciate you so much. It’s been one of the hardest 48 hours of our life. As you know, we’ve been down some of this road before–we flew Megan here and were in ICU so many years ago.

I’m fighting back tears as I tell you that my son appears to be all right. Thanks, Mike.

Begging for Your Prayers

Published
by
Mike
on January 16, 2005
in family, grief, prayer and the wreck
. 158 Comments

I stop only long enough to plead for prayers.

My son and some friends were being driven back from Winterfest this afternoon in a Suburban that flipped. Chris has been intubated and is about to be flown to a children’s hospital in the metroplex. My little boy was beaten black and blue. They’re saying he’s stable. CT scans showed no head injuries inside. The boy next to him died. I grieve horribly for the family. But I’m off. Diane is flying with Chris.

I only pause because I beg you to pray for my son.